


Finders Keepers

by days4daisy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia Castiel, Even though they really deserve one, M/M, Prompt-Fill Fail, Season/Series 07, The Author is a Tease and Doesn't Write a Full Sex Scene, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 21:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3304415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Evil angels?" Emmanuel wonders.</p>
<p>Crowley rolls his eyes and returns to his paper. “Yes. Back-stabbing, bloodthirsty, stupid angels. Evil. And dangerous.”</p>
<p>"You sound like you’ve known angels like these."</p>
<p>"Yes, Emmanuel," he mutters. "I hope to never know them again."</p>
<p>--<br/>Canon Divergence - Season 7. Spoilers through 7x17 - The Born-Again Identity</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finders Keepers

**Author's Note:**

> Catching up on posting Tumblr prompt responses. Had another wonderful one! 
> 
> _I think you should write some Emmanuel/Crowley :))) because its my new favorite pairing and I think we need to convert other people to the beauty of it._
> 
> We were chatting about Crowley/Emmanuel on the blog, so this just sort of happened. More people should write this pairing, because unf.
> 
> More people should write Emmanuel in general. Such a brief but lovely version of Cas *_* I have many Season 7 feelings.

"I’ve decided. 'Emmanuel.' It’s a good name."

Crowley holds his newspaper higher. It blocks his view of the amnesia-stricken angel sitting at his table. “God is with us. How predictable.”

Crowley supposes he’ll have to call the brain dead bird by this new moniker. At least until he decides it’s time to dispose of his old partner once and for all. It should not be difficult. The angel's grace is intact, but he has no memory of his own power.

All that is left of Castiel is this blank slate. He might as well be mortal. Believes he is, hilariously. A human who does not eat or sleep, among many other things.

"God is with everyone, Fergus," Emmanuel says. Crowley lowers his newspaper to glare at his ex-associate. "Even those who make mistakes."

"Yes, well. If you discover an express train upstairs, buy me a ticket," Crowley mutters. "Until then, God will be with you, Emmanuel. A bottle of Craig will be with me."

***

Crowley finds him naked and soaked in the woods. It isn’t as sexy as it sounds.

Crowley is not looking for him. His underlings are gathering recon on the Leviathan. Crowley appears topside to hear the latest in person.

It seems Dick Roman had no intent to play nice. This has placed Crowley into an unfortunate alliance with those damn Winchesters. But times and needs change, he supposes. Circle of life and all that. 

Crowley is at the rendezvous point early, in case any wayward chompers need to be neutralized. Imagine his surprise when the enemy that appears is not Leviathan but angel. His old business partner, naked and shuddering between the trees.

Crowley actually laughs when he sees him. Then, he draws his angel blade. “My, my.” He stalks towards Castiel, hunger in his eyes. “Today is my lucky day, isn’t it?”

Killing him will be so beautiful, so final.

"W-what are you?"

"Many things, pet." Crowley beams, waving the blade with delight. "Handsome. Powerful. _Alive._ Everything you are not."

But, a strange thing happens. Castiel shrinks away from him. The terror in his eyes is unnerving. 

"Your face," he gasps. "It’s… What are you? Where am I? I don’t know this place."

Crowley frowns.

He stows the blade but keeps a safe distance. This could still be a trap. After Castiel’s betrayal, Crowley will not put anything past him.

"Do you know who you are?" Crowley asks.

Castiel stares at him.  At first, he seems puzzled. Then, more confused.

Then, he panics.  ”I…I don’t…” His eyes widen, and he clutches his chest, stumbling back.

Crowley. The Winchesters. Purgatory. Angels and demons.

Everything is gone.

***

"What is it like?" Emmanuel asks one day. He is watering a little potted plant in the window.

Crowley is on the couch. He is reading that day’s newspaper. It has become a habit, one that allows him to tune out the ex-angel as much as possible

But Crowley also finds the news soothing. Death and destruction on every page.

"What is what like?" he asks, eyes staying on the print in front of him.

"Being a demon," Emmanuel replies. This earns Crowley’s attention.

Ex-Castiel has paused with flower pot in hand, looking at him. "I see things in your face. Painful things."

"It’s a living," Crowley murmurs. "Or, well, not. I am what I am."

Emmanuel tilts his head. “Demons are supposed to be evil,” he muses. “But you’ve taken me in. You’ve been kind to me.”

Crowley shrugs. “I find you interesting,” he replies. “And we come in different flavors, as I said. There are evil people, too. Evil angels-“

"Evil angels?" Emmanuel wonders.

Crowley rolls his eyes and returns to his paper. “Yes. Back-stabbing, bloodthirsty, stupid angels. Evil. And dangerous.”

"You sound like you’ve known angels like these."

"Yes, Emmanuel," he mutters. "I hope to never know them again."

***

"It’s a miracle." The old man leaps from the living room chair. He holds a shaking hand to his face, covering one eye, then the other. 

The man trips over his own feet as he crosses the room. He stares into the mirror above the mantle. “I can see,” he whispers. “How? It’s impossible, they said I would never see again-“

"By the grace of God, blah blah blah," Crowley mutters. He does not like this healer business. It’s too _good_. Goodness makes Crowley’s skin crawl.

He glances up when Emmanuel slumps on the couch, placing his forehead in a hand.

Frowning, Crowley goes to him. “You’ve worn yourself out, ducky.”

"This is my second chance, Fergus." Emmanuel’s voice stutters as he catches his breath. He smiles at Crowley wearily. "I should be dead. If you hadn’t found me, cared for me-"

"Right, well." Crowley shrugs. He’s alive for the moment, anyway. Until Crowley decides that he has outlived his usefulness.

In the meantime… “Can’t we charge these people for your services, sweetheart?” Crowley asks. “Miracle healing doesn’t pay the bills.”

***

Crowley should not have given the name Fergus. It was the first thing that came to mind when Emmanuel asked. Exposing himself as Crowley risked triggering the angel’s memories. But a fake name would have been better. One not tied to his personal life and experiences.

"Everyone has the chance for salvation, Fergus," Emmanuel says. "They just need faith-"

"It’s a fairy tale," Crowley snaps.

"It’s not-"

"I sold my soul in a deal, drunk off my ass. I'd been like that since I was small. Every day, fed whiskey and mead. It was the only life I knew. What good is faith with a life like that?"

Emmanuel’s expression grows solemn. “I’m sorry, Fergus,” he says. 

"Yes, well." Crowley shrugs. He does not want to hear his old partner say that name anymore. "What’s done is done, I suppose."

Emmanuel steps around the back of the couch. Crowley stiffens when a hand closes over his shoulder.

The angel smiles down at him. "I can never repay your kindness, Fergus," he says. "I wish I could help somehow."

Anger boils through the King of Hell. Castiel, Emmanuel, should be dead. And he will be. Soon.

"I hate sentimentality, Emmanuel," Crowley mutters. He pats Emmanuel’s hand. "You’re welcome. Let this be the last time you thank me."

Emmanuel squeezes Crowley’s shoulder. Then, he takes the hint, removing his hand and leaving for another part of the house.

Crowley frowns. His shoulder is still warm where the angel touched him.

***

Now is the time. Crowley steps into the bedroom quietly. The blade is tucked behind him.

Emmanuel is dressing, back turned towards Crowley. He pulls a t-shirt on, then a v-neck sweater.

Crowley grips the blade tighter. As soon as he turns around.

When Emmanuel turns, he smiles. “I didn’t hear you, Fergus.”

"I didn’t want to startle you," Crowley offers. Just a little closer.

Emmanuel moves in front of him. If he notices the hand Crowley has tucked behind his back, he does not comment. Instead, he takes Crowley’s other hand in his. His eyes are gentle. Nothing like Castiel’s.

Emmanuel leans forward and kisses Crowley’s cheek. Crowley gapes in wonder. All thoughts of murder leave his mind.

With a faint smile, Emmanuel leaves the room.

***

Crowley decides to kill him at night. Emmanuel does not sleep, of course. But his guard will be down. It will come out of nowhere. Quick and efficient.

When Crowley enters the bedroom, tears are rolling down Emmanuel’s face. The wet trails shine in the light of street lamps from the window. Crowley is so stunned, he forgets about the hidden blade.

"Fergus." Emmanuel sighs. "I’m sorry. Did I wake you?"

Crowley points at his own face. “Demon, darling,” he says. “No sleep required. What’s the matter? Are you hurt?”

"I didn’t think I slept," Emmanuel says. He pulls his t-shirt up to rub his eyes. The attention leaves them drier but red. "But I must have. I saw…death. So much death, Fergus. A nightmare. It had to be."

Crowley sits on a side of the bed. “You saw death?”

Emmanuel exhales a shaking breath. “Bodies in a field. But I wasn’t dead, Fergus. I was alive. I walked between them, the dead bodies. I looked so calm, I… It was horrible. It had to be a dream.”

"Perhaps," Crowley mumbles. He looks down at his hand, clutched in Emmanuel's

An angel so damaged by his own crimes that he cannot remember who he is. Cannot see his own devastation as anything other than a dream.

Emmanuel looks at their joined hands too.

He pulls his back and clears his throat. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. It was just a dream. …Fergus, you-“

"Quiet, sweetheart," Crowley says. His hand strokes through Emmanuel’s hair. "Close your eyes."

"I don’t sleep," Emmanuel reminds him. But he closes his eyes anyway. Trusting. Too trusting.

Crowley sighs. “Well then, don’t sleep. Just breathe, love. Breathe.”

Emmanuel does as he asks. He keeps his eyes closed. Every inhale, a gift. Every exhale, a blessing.

Crowley should kill him. He should kill him now. But he doesn’t.

***

Tonight is the night. Crowley will not make the same mistake again. It will be in a small, enclosed space. No hesitation, no chance to see the angel’s eyes or smile. Right in the back. It will happen so fast, Emmanuel won’t have a chance to scream before the grace burns out of him.

Crowley pushes the door of the bathroom open. Emmanuel looks up in surprise. His clothes are folded on top of the toilet seat. His boxers are the last piece, sitting low on his waist.

Crowley reaches for the blade in his jacket. Eye contact, but no matter. He has to do it now.

Crowley freezes at the smile Emmanuel gives him. Emmanuel closes the distance between them. His arms wind around Crowley’s waist.

"What are you doing?" Crowley demands.

"What are you doing?" Emmanuel echoes, chuckling.

He kisses Crowley. A hand strays down his back, sliding over his ass. Crowley finds his traitor skin responding. His hips roll towards the thin fabric separating him from Emmanuel’s already visible interest.

Foiled again.

But… What’s one more day, really? 

Crowley shoves his jacket and shirt off, then urges Emmanuel’s mouth onto his again. He swallows the angel’s groan - what a pretty sound. He thinks of Castiel, how incensed he would be. The thought tickles Crowley to the core. Perhaps this is better than killing his old foe.

Crowley shifts himself towards Emmanuel’s hands. He steps out of his pants when they fall to the ground.

Crowley normally would not tolerate the needless wrinkling of his garments. But there are exceptions for every rule. 

Emmanuel presses his underwear down, then reaches back for the shower faucet. The water steams to life. Emmanuel just makes it into the stall before Crowley has him in his arms.

Castiel would be affronted, furious. Emmanuel only laughs and dips his head back. Crowley presses him against the tiles and bites away the shower drops sliding down his throat. 

He growls when the angel winds a hand around him, giving his cock a good, strong pull. 

"This is how you found me," Emmanuel says. Amazing that this is now a matter they can joke about. 

Crowley worries the sensitive place beneath Emmanuel’s jaw. His skin turns nice and red under Crowley's teeth.

Emmanuel does not know how to heal himself, Crowley remembers. He won't be able to hide the signs of their love-making afterwards...

"Yes. This is how I found you, angel." Crowley smirks against Emmanuel’s skin. "Finders Keepers."

*The End*

**Author's Note:**

> Loved this prompt *_*
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://daisy4days.tumblr.com) if you'd like to say hi or chat Season 7 revisionist history with me ;p


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